


Eddie Kaspbrak, Lord and Savior of Balls Everywhere

by insatiablegaydesire



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Comedian!Richie, Doctor Kink, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, M/M, Medical Examination, Mentions of Cancer, Richie Tozier's Stand Up Act, because its richie toziers comedy act what else do you expect, no explicit smut but quite a few descriptions of ball related sexual roleplays, overuse of the words balls fondling and husband, richie is OUT and here to BRAG about all the GAY SEX hes having
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22358275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insatiablegaydesire/pseuds/insatiablegaydesire
Summary: Welcome to Richie Tozier's newest stand-up tour, where he comes clean about growing up gay in a small town, the ten commandments on communicating nonviolently with your new husband's ex-wife, and exactly how that same husband saved his life during a sexual roleplay in which he wears tight little blue latex gloves. It's time to get intimate with America's favorite trashmouth. Grab a seat, and a glove, and let's get rolling!
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 26
Kudos: 194





	Eddie Kaspbrak, Lord and Savior of Balls Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to mattie for turning 21 and also being a nonhaderfucker. together, in solidarity, we can make it out of this war alive. stay strong, nonhaderfuckers. stay strong.

You wanna hear how my husband saved my life? [audience cheers] Yeah, yeah, of course you do! Okay, so, first of all: I’ve been told that I should probably preface this story with the fact that I am 100% healthy now and that Eddie gave me explicit permission to say these things. Because, uh, I’m about to say a lot of things. Relevant things! But... things.

Those little blue latex gloves the ticket checker handed to you before the show? Their meaning is about to become very, very clear.

So! Thing number one: I have a husband. Which shouldn’t be a suprise to you, seeing as I referenced that fact literally ten seconds ago at the beginning of the bit. He’s my favorite person. Has been for pretty much my whole life. We’re childhood sweethearts, in a way, that way being we were childhood best friends who were always in love with each other but never said anything and then moved away for college and never saw each other for over twenty years only to fall in love again at some absolutely shitty best friend reunion where we were both now sporting fiveheads and crow’s feet. So, thanks for that, Mike! No, really. Thank  _ God _ for Mike.

Thing number two: we have a lot of sex. Like, a  _ lot _ a lot of sex. Crazy, I know, right? Forty year olds have sex?! Well, I don’t know about your parents, but when you marry the love of your life only _ after _ your midlife crisis, you’re making up for a lot of lost time. It doesn’t matter that we can only get it up once in a blue moon, because we’re just waiting for that moment and  _ taking it as far as it can go _ . Yeah, that’s right. You’re getting a sex bit  _ and _ an innendo bit. Lucky you! But yeah, when you have a lot of sex, it usually leads to you having a lot of  _ weird sex _ . There’s only so much you can do in a bed, or on a couch, or on a kitchen counter, or in the cramped spaces of your friend’s guest bathroom during the annual found family Thanksgiving dinner...

Which leads to thing number three: I like things up my ass, much to the disappointment of my husband, who also very much likes things up his ass, even more than me. Gays in the audience, do the math. Straights in the audience, well. You don’t need to know. But you know how when men start getting old and they dread getting their yearly checkup because they  _ know  _ some person they don’t know is about to stick two lubed fingers up their ass with only the barest of consent beforehand? Yeah. That’s not me. I can  _ hear _ all you straight men curling up in your seats right about now. Weak ass motherfuckers. You think two fingers is hard? You ever been fisted?

Anyway. [an audience member begins to yell unintelligibly] No, shut up, it’s not time for your fisting stories right now! It’s my turn to share anal stories! This is why I became a comedian! To overshare and brag about all the sex I’m having!

Okay, so... [Richie laughs, prompting the audience to laugh at him laughing] Shut up! I’m allowed to laugh at my own jokes, I earned that right with my last Netflix special. [Richie suddenly pivots his body, hunches his torso over so that its parallel to the ground, and deepens his voice as much as he can, adding in a slight but arguably, absolutely terrible British accent] Yes, that’s right, this bit is all a clever marketing scheme to get someone to heckle me so I can promote my new show. Haha, heehee! [Richie returns to his previous posture, and the bit, as if whatever just happened did not actually happen]

Thing number four: we like roleplays. Specifically, doctor roleplays. Yeah, that prostate exam I mentioned earlier? Very fun. Highly recommend. Gents, have your wives do that. Really adds some spice to getting things shoved up your ass over and over again, day by day. I know the women in this audience understand. [intense screaming from audience] Okay, holy shit, didn’t expect you to understand  _ that _ much. Please, get better boyfriends. You deserve to be fucked better than that.

And lastly, thing number five: me and my husband also like to engage in what we, [Richie pauses for emphasis], okay, what  _ I _ like to call “Test the Testes.” It’s very simple. Your man puts on some latex gloves, powder-free, blue, men’s small to medium... [Richie stares off into the auditorium wistfully, his voice growing softer, before he starts and clears his throat, shaking his head like a wet dog] Yeah, so he puts those on. He gently, ever so gently, cups your balls and rolls them in his palm. Now, stay with me here, I know I’m losing some of you to either homophobic thoughts or homosexual thoughts. Maybe some of you to both. So, he uses his fingers to test the surface, then if he’s feeling  _ really _ thorough, he’ll use his mouth. And I would get more detailed than that, but my manager told me if I did he’d fire me and I’d be living on the street, with nowhere for my husband to Test my Testes. And we can’t have that!

So, imagine you’re me. I know, terrifying. You just got home from a three month long tour, and you smell like the combination of fourteen different gas stations from across the East Coast, a gross Yankee Candle creation of Chick-Fil-A and Dunkin Donuts seeping into your LA apartment. Thankfully, your husband is also as horny as you are so the fast food smell doesn’t matter. And here begins the marathon sex, marathon being whenever both of you can get it up broken up with rest periods, because, y’know. Two forty year old men having sex. Marathon sex with movie breaks. Netflix and chill, but with infinitely more Netflix than if you were both twenty years younger. After the first few times, you decide to spice things up a bit, make it a truly special reunion week. Out come the blue latex gloves and one Doctor K. Which, uh, by the way, is something I used to call him when we were twelve and lived in the state of confusion, capital the closet. AKA, Derry, Maine. That’s just what the local queers call it. So, I still call him Doctor K, just in a  _ very  _ different way. 

Things are going good, balls are getting rolled. You know, as they do. But then your husband looks up at you with a decidedly  _ not _ sexy look in his eyes, the kind you recognize which means something  _ very, very bad _ . 

Now, Eddie knows my balls like he knows the feeling of his own tongue in his mouth. He could pick out my balls from a line-up in a police station blindfolded and with only his nondominant hand to grope the suspects’ genitals. You could rub one of your fingers on my balls, go about your day, then go to Eddie and stick your fingers in his mouth and he’d know you’d touched my balls  _ and  _ with which finger. He’d probably also immediately come home and yell at me about letting strangers touch my balls, but he’d know. 

So when he tested my testes that day, he knew something was different. You could probably ask him and he’d say some shit about how, like, my scrotum had a different texture or some bullshit like that. My opinion? Eddie’s fucking clairvoyant. You should’ve been there, oh my god. It was like witnessing a miracle in that doctor’s office. Eddie and I come blazing into our Primary, he’s elbowing through all the nurses and staff in the lobby because [Richie attempts an impression of Eddie that makes him seem like an extremely pissed off, rabid Chihuahua] “ _ My husband’s balls need to be checked out right fucking now!” _

So of course we get moved to the top of the waiting list because Eddie’s practically foaming at the mouth and scaring all the little kids talking about my balls. Keep in mind this man is like, 5’7 on his best days and he wears these cute little polos with stitched on embroidery. Also, ever since he was a little kid, he walks with the air of a middle-aged soccer mom who wants to talk to every single manager that’s ever existed. Yeah. That’s the man I fell in love with, everybody.

When the doctor finally comes in, I don’t know what the fuck to tell him. Luckily for me, Eddie tends to handle these situations. Not better than I do. He just handles situations. He fucks things up and scares people and says all the wrong shit but at least he says something, meanwhile I’m over here in the corner protectively fondling my balls in fear. So, the doctor comes in, and Eddie does this: he shoots up, points at my crotch, and says--quite loudly may I add--“ _ cancer!” _

Like, not even a “hello,” no “I’m concerned over some differences in my husband’s scrotal skin,” just, “ _ cancer!” _ Which, you know, as the owner of the balls he’s pointing at, is actually pretty scary. The doctor isn’t even phased. He just nods his head appreciatively like Eddie just brought up a good book he just finished and says “Hmm. Cancer.” Y’know, in the way one would say “Hmm. Catcher in the Rye.” Which as the  _ patient _ of the doctor who is going to check out my balls is  _ actually pretty fucking scary _ . 

So, I’m still in the corner, hand on my crotch, this close to a fucking panic attack while Eddie goes over the basics of what brought us in to the office that day, and then suddenly the doctor’s got his blue gloves on, and... Hm. Let me tell you, people. Someone gripping the skin of your balls between their fingers is  _ not _ as fun when those fingers don’t belong to your husband. I think I may have cried a little bit. My doctor is just that strong, man. I’d hate to have  _ that _ dude’s fist up my ass. Well, actually...

Anyway, moving on! The doctor did confirm that something felt off, so that began the process of putting my body into several different machines that all make varying kinds of noises that will definitely haunt my dreams forever. Clowns and MRI machines... the two scariest things known to man. You know what they have in common? My husband has screamed at both. I’m not joking. I’m more than a bit claustrophobic--ironic considering I lived in a tiny ass closet for forty years of my life--and after my first time in there, I was having a bit of a meltdown. So, Eddie comes to me first, y’know, trying to comfort me, telling me it’s okay, letting me hold his hand like the sweetheart he is. But after I finally start to calm down, he turns to  _ it _ . It being, of course, a gigantic piece of machinery, the secular equivalent of Goliath in which my tiny husband is David. And he goes  _ ham _ on this machine. You ever seen a tired-out mother in a grocery store with all four of her toddlers hanging off her arms, one of them on the brink of a tantrum, and you just  _ know _ if this kid takes it one step further she’s going to go all Tyra Banks yelling at Tiffany on America’s Next Top Model on him? And you’re going to have to decide whether it’s more appropriate for you to intervene or just grab your block of low-fat cream cheese and go? That was Eddie. Eddie Tyra Banks-ed an MRI machine for me. And that’s why I love him.

Long story short: I had testicular cancer. Key word  _ had  _ people, because I’m recovered, baby! [audience cheers again, louder than ever before] I’m not here to sentence you to listening to my sad cancer story, because that’s not what that is. This is a story of hope. And balls. Yup, definitely a story about balls.

But to think, the thing that ultimately saved my life from a sad, untimely end was my very prominent doctor kink and how much I like a man in a position of authority, that position preferably also being directly in front of my balls. 

Thank you, Seattle, and good night! Go fondle some balls for me!


End file.
